


Anchor in the Sand

by Pomiar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, M/M, Mortis Arc, Tatooine ghost moping, This is the closest to canon I'll ever set foot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomiar/pseuds/Pomiar
Summary: “I dreamt of the sea again,” Obi-Wan says into the nothingness of the desert. The sand dunes, sprawling each way one looks, form a sea of their own. A cruel unforgiving sea, in which one could not drown.Obi-Wan seems to think the same as he elaborates. “A real sea, like the one in Vega. Sometimes it is angry and wounded, baring its teeth in white foam as it crashes on the rocks, but sometimes it is still as a lake.”Qui-Gon tries and fails again and again to reach Obi-Wan.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45
Collections: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan Discord Server Secret Santa (2020)





	Anchor in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldishcase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldishcase/gifts).



> My prompt for the Secret Santa, hooray I got the Mortis arc. I've last seen it long ago but I remember Obi-Wan had to forget what happens on that blasted planet so I ran with that.  
> Thank you [Case](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldishcase/pseuds/coldishcase) for the lovely prompt, hope you like it.  
> Also a huge thank you to [Treescape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape) for being kind enough to beta, I love you!

The Force is a sea, calm like the darkness in between the stars. Qui-Gon doesn’t feel it, doesn’t know it but the pain in his heart makes him remember. He remembers his name, he remembers the gentle fall of the leaves in the forests of Gilbaresh. He remembers one person and tear-stained cheeks.

So he goes back.

* * *

Anakin, the child he had found, is spilling Light like a cracked overflowing vessel. It is easy to follow and easier to gravitate towards him, like a moon into the orbit of its planet.

“What does it feel like?” Anakin tilts his head curiously.

Qui-Gon thinks it carefully. “Do you ask yourself what living feels like?”

The Padawan scrunches his nose in disapproval. “It’s not the same,” he reasons.

“Yet, it feels oddly the same,” Qui-Gon says and Anakin huffs in disappointment.

The room is dark and quiet as night has descended upon the Temple. It is too cold for Anakin. Qui-Gon can tell by the way the child has gathered his sheets like a fortress steadily awaiting a mighty foe.

“Shouldn’t you sleep, Anakin?”

Anakin looks at him, a flash of guilt reflects in his eyes. “I couldn’t.”

Qui-Gon thinks about sitting down next to the boy on his bed, but ghosts don’t really need to rest.

He does it anyway even if it is to make himself smaller and easier for the child to speak to him. “You should tell Obi-Wan you have trouble sleeping.”

Anakin fidgets nervously. “I don’t think Ob…Master Obi-Wan will help me.”

“What do you mean?” Qui-Gon feels worried and he realises dying is a lot similar in this regard. Worries weight him down, fears and regrets choke him still.

“Mom used to sing to me. I don’t think…” Anakin looks away, clearly ashamed.

“No,” Qui-Gon agrees. “Obi-Wan wouldn’t sing to you.”

The Padawan sighs – at nine and alone in his dark bedroom he looks like he has the weight of the universe on his shoulders.

Qui-Gon takes pity. “There are other ways he can help you, Anakin. If a path is blocked to you, find another.”

Anakin thinks that through for a bit as he plays with the clean bedding. It is crisp and coarse. Qui-Gon knows it will get soft with time and use. He reaches with his hand. His fingers skim it, his mind supplies the needed information but he simply cannot feel it.

“Why can’t you tell him?” Anakin asks.

Qui-Gon smiles ruefully. “He is difficult to talk to.”

Anakin spills Light like a cracked vessel but he wasn’t what guided Qui-Gon home.

* * *

Mortis is a whirlpool in the universe. Once, Qui-Gon would’ve scowled outwardly at the preposterous idea of its existence. Yet, he would’ve been pleased with it nevertheless, never admitting it to his scholar brethren. A fairy tale, a myth, an anomaly in the ruthless grip of science that had managed to dull even the Force by giving it a form and an explanation. It was a rebellion against life itself and Qui-Gon is fascinated.

The woman is gracious and luminous, so much so that it hurts to look at her. She turns as she feels him and nods in acknowledgement.

“They are waiting for your guidance,” she says and her voice soars gently in the meadow. Everything here – alive or ethereal – longing to reach for her presence, to bathe in her light. 

“And they’ll listen?” Qui-Gon wonders for he had spent many nights talking to them but even Anakin had outgrown his need for the ghost of his past, so he had forgotten.

But Qui-Gon hadn’t been able to disappear. He was pulled into the colours of life. Was it because he needed to witness how it all played out? Surely it couldn’t be only his stubbornness that kept him going.

He remembers the smile of a child, a collar fastened around a thin neck and a promise that should’ve lasted for a lifetime.

No. It is something else he dares not name.

The woman frowns as if she read his mind. “Your student will see you,” she warns and Qui-Gon isn’t certain if his face did not reveal the sting that scorched his chest. She rises from the stones and floats above the grass – not alive nor dead, simply being. She leaves no trail though, the grass doesn’t bend to the pressure of her heels – she changes nothing in this world and Qui-Gon has never felt more powerful and helpless at the same time.

“Keep your feelings to yourself,” the woman advises as she stops before him. Qui-Gon nods, ready to disobey her the moment he sees Obi-Wan.

She reads him again and her face is suddenly burdened with sadness as she cups his cheek. “He will forget once he leaves this place, use your time wisely,” she advises him, but Qui-Gon knows more than she realises. He knows they three are after Anakin, to dissect him and use him and toy with his destiny.

He doesn’t want it but once again his thoughts stray to the wrong boy.

“You think he is the Chosen One?”

The woman nods calmly and elation sweeps Qui-Gon. Triumph is a heady nectar to drink without drowning in it.

For a moment he forgets why he is here in the first place.

* * *

The cave feels nothing like the peace that had overwhelmed Qui-Gon in the meadow with the daughter of the Force, but the ghost sees the lone figure in the dark and all thoughts scatter like a pack of birds.

He desires to tell Obi-Wan so much now that his Padawan can hear him, he wants to express so much now that death has broken the chains of his mortal restrictions.

 _But there is no time_ , he thinks mournfully. The fate of the Chosen One is on the line and what is more they could finally have the proof that Anakin was the prophesied one. Something in Qui-Gon, a dangerous creature called pride, purrs with satisfaction at the mere thought that Obi-Wan had to finally acknowledge it. And, something else - a twin emotion called regret whispers that his death might’ve not been in vain.

 _He will forget this interaction_ , Qui-Gon knows, so he schools his emotions.

“Did you train the boy as I asked?” he says instead.

* * *

After all is said and done and he fades like a dying star from the night sky he sees for a moment that Obi-Wan smiles at the flames dancing in front of him.

It pierces him just as mortally as the red saber had, for it is the smile of the twelve-year-old ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. It is the smile of a lonely soul trudging forward through the darkness. Qui-Gon reaches out, just for a second as his confidence wavers, and his walls crumble - the need to touch overwhelming.

Useless.

Obi-Wan will forget this. It won’t pain him for long. Such thoughts comfort him as he disappears into the fabric of the Force. He will not admit it even to himself. But he had been afraid – afraid Obi-Wan wouldn’t feel his touch or want his comfort.

 _He will forget this_ , he thinks, relieved. He doesn’t have any more time to spare for his Padawan. The Chosen One awaits his guidance.

* * *

“I dreamt of the sea again,” Obi-Wan says into the nothingness of the desert. The sand dunes, sprawling each way one looks, form a sea of their own. A cruel unforgiving sea, in which one could not drown.

Obi-Wan seems to think the same as he elaborates. “A real sea, like the one in Vega. Sometimes it is angry and wounded, baring its teeth in white foam as it crashes on the rocks, but sometimes it is still as a lake.” He opens one of his eyes and looks sideways to where Qui-Gon kneels – stiff as if he had swallowed a whole branch. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, is sitting cross-legged and meditating under the heavy hand of the suns. Qui-Gon admires his resolve to get out every day and meet the stinging rays head-on. It is a losing battle as the casualties are more evident as the days progress – Qui-Gon observes Obi-Wan and sees the wrinkles at his eyes and the fine strands of white popping in between the copper.

He aches.

Obi-Wan sighs. “I just wish I knew what that meant,” he half-jokingly adds, hiding his insecurities under a light smile. Most people think him foolish to laugh at the slightest chance but Qui-Gon knows better.

“Do you drown in it?” the ghost asks curiously.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes and turns to look at Qui-Gon, he regards him for a second. Qui-Gon holds his gaze steadily.

“I already drowned once, I am afraid it doesn’t scare me.”

Qui-Gon looks away first. He knows of the lake, and the scream that tore through Obi-Wan as his brethren were dying and his lungs were filling with water.

What a foolish sight they are. The ghost and the madman in the desert. Obi-Wan at least keeps shining with unwavering light, but Qui-Gon wonders what he is doing?

How is he supposed to teach his Padawan to let go? He himself is burdened by life too much.

The heat he cannot feel otherwise, flares in his belly as he thinks it through. His hands ache to bury in the sand and feel it burn him. His thoughts stray. The coarse material of Obi-Wan’s tunic, soft skin, warm steady heart.

He wants to disappear.

“You need to tame the waves, Obi-Wan,” he says instead.

“I know.”

* * *

Qui-Gon doesn’t sleep but wishes for it nevertheless. It looks tempting to rest aside your worries and slumber as the heat relaxes its clutches on the land.

He nears the sleeping form of his apprentice.

Obi-Wan had caught him in the little hut at night, staring at him more than once but had dismissed it with a crooked smile. “Haunt the hutts Qui-Gon, make yourself useful.”

Qui-Gon had found it hard to explain.

He can’t leave here.

So he watches over instead. Waits for the fretless battle of a man against the open sea. And sure enough, Obi-Wan frowns, a slight twitch of his eyebrows. Qui-Gon looms over. He reaches out and his fingers skim over soft strands of hair. The act is like a breeze – it ruffles through the strands and it smooths the lines from his forehead. Obi-Wan sighs as he sinks deeper into sleep.

Qui-Gon cannot feel it and he hurts.

* * *

It all comes to a head on the evening of another endless day. Qui-Gon feels better about the starry sky, as it is merciful towards the living, so he had silently been trying to reverse Obi-Wan’s routine so that their lessons end up after the suns set.

Obi-Wan looks restless as he shifts his stance in the sand again. This time he is facing him, with his knees bent and sitting on his legs. It is a humbling gesture. Obi-Wan had kneeled in the student’s position on the first day Qui-Gon had revealed himself, humility coming swift and easy to him.

“It seems we must take these roles once again.”

Despite the pain, and the messy tangled threads that were their relationship, Qui-Gon knew better. He had no pride left to give, not after the Force had cried out and been silenced violently on that day Anakin had joined the Dark Side.

So he had copied Obi-Wan exactly. He hadn’t learnt from his apprentice when his heart had been beating, but he could try now.

“I think I have found out the wellspring of my tempestuous sea,” Obi-Wan says and Qui-Gon’s attention sharpens into the now, as he lets go of the currents of the Force.

“Oh?”

Obi-Wan smiles lopsidedly. “Every time you look at me, the sea inside roars and every time you turn away it yearns. It is, frankly, a losing battle. The sea turned to desert as you died, but recently…” he trails off, eyes cast downwards as if afraid of judgement.

Qui-Gon’s emotions flare as a rescue call into the gloomy sky – all at once and then silence looms. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows better now.

Once he might’ve tackled this differently but he is a husk – a vision of broken pride and empty promises.

And still, he yearns, his hands closing in on empty air in his lap.

Before he can rebuke his padawan though, Obi-Wan continues.

“You brought the storm, and I couldn’t let it go. All these years I tried…”

Qui-Gon knows but he listens without interrupting.

“You handed me a kid and left, you rushed without me and discarded me without a second thought, but I always hoped if you had had the time you’d explain.” Obi-Wan lifts his head. His eyes are calm, he is the pond in the desert. An oasis Qui-Gon cannot reach. “Even here you never told me. You ask of me to let this life go, and tear through what tethers me here until all is left is the shine of that child’s light so when the time comes I am ready. But I see you and I cling to life for you are here. I love you,” he says. “Tell me why, please,” he pleads.

Qui-Gon is horrified. He knows he'd tried to speak with Obi-Wan those first years. He’d screamed in the void, but his student had been too wrapped in the fibres of life, enraptured in the colours of reality.

“I had a chance,” Qui-Gon says. He knows now – truth is a kinder mistress. “You don’t remember it, and I used that as my excuse. My pride…left me blind for too long. But now, as the Force has punished me for it I thought I am not worthy of your attention.”

Obi-Wan stays quiet for so long, Qui-Gon wants to twitch nervously like an Initiate caught levitating sweets from the food storage.

“You are a fool, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“You are my anchor to this life, I never crossed because I never got to hold you in my arms like I wanted to.”

Obi-Wan bows his head and exhales shakily. He smiles.

* * *

So the suns keep reigning despotically in the sky. The sands shift under his feet, there is no sound but the beating of the heart of the desert. They both have gotten used to it. To the quiet despair, but also the simple relief of the now. They are ready, when the time comes he will go and Obi-Wan will follow.

No.

Obi-Wan will lead this time and Qui-Gon will follow, the way he has for the past decades.

It is noon, and the evaporator sings a janky sound at the back. Obi-Wan cleans his hands from the oil. The black inky substance delves rivers in his skin. Qui-Gon looks at him and his heart swells. Obi-Wan feels the shift in the Force and turns towards his eerie presence. He outstretches his hand and waits patiently. Qui-Gon takes it.

It is warm. 

  
  
  



End file.
